


Tinkerbell and the Demon from Hell

by PixelByPixel, Rainey657



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Cute, Fluff, Gen, Humor, It's all Lucifer's fault, Trixie gets a pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 09:18:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11272518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PixelByPixel/pseuds/PixelByPixel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainey657/pseuds/Rainey657
Summary: "I guess it started with the cat."When Lucifer accidentally hits a gigantic black cat on the way to driving Trixie to school, it's the start of an amusing series of events that is only made more complicated when one of Lucifer's brothers comes looking for Maze.





	Tinkerbell and the Demon from Hell

“I guess it started with the cat.”

Maze was well into her third pitcher of daiquiris, and as usual showing no signs of inebriation. Linda, monitoring her own consumption carefully, decided she could afford another if she kept it slow. Nodding encouragement, she began to pour.

“The kid took to it right away. No cute little kitten for her; that girl likes 'em big and bad!”

And “big and bad” described the cat perfectly. The feline homewrecker knew he'd fallen into catnip and played to the far seats whenever his chosen humans were in the house. Trixie swore _they_ were _his_ pets, annoying Lucifer tremendously and motivating the demon to go along with the pretense of feline intelligence.

“Okay, how did she get a cat in the first place?” Linda demanded. It was no secret Trixie's mother was firmly opposed to pets, considering the wording of their lease. Nothing on more than two legs was permitted on the premises, a restriction Detective Decker had taken to heart as a defense against her daughter's continual begging for an animal companion.

Maze's face contorted in amusement. “All Lucifer's fault,” she chortled. “He was driving the kid to school...”

* * *

Trixie Espinoza was late to class. Blame her mother for sleeping through the alarm. Blame the child for excessive dithering over the selection of tee shirt. The upshot was a desperate plea to her mother's partner (civilian assistant) in fighting crime and his grudging agreement to take The Spawn to school (side trip) on his way to assist Detective Decker in homicide investigations. All would have remained copacetic had Lucifer not become distracted by his partner's daughter's description of the class troublemaker (a boy, naturally) who had become a major irritant in Trixie's otherwise idyllic universe, also known as fourth grade. His attention momentarily distracted, the Dark Lord failed to notice a black blur darting out from behind a parked car until a distinct thump announced the Corvette had hit something.

Sure enough, 'something' was lying motionless in the road. Trixie screamed as only a nine-year-old girl can, hitting a note and volume even Hell's worst tortures couldn't match and completely destroying the concentration of the 'Vette's driver. Lucifer stomped on the brakes, the car came to a shuddering stop, and one elementary school student made a flying leap over the door and ran to the pitiful lump of black fur lying in the road.

The cat lifted its head and moaned. Trixie sobbed, gathering the creature into her arms and calling out to her one friend in the world who could put things to right again. “Lucifer, _do_ something!” the child begged, tearing at the Devil's non-existent heart. “He's hurt!” The cat agreed, emitting a piteous meow and placing one paw gently on the girl's arm. Large golden eyes looked deeply into Trixie's brown ones, and a bond was...

Oh, no. _No, no no_. Lucifer saw what was happening. “He's just shaken, Beatrice. I'm sure he'll be fine. You'll be late to school if we don't get going...”

Unacceptable. “ _LUCIFER!!!_ ” Trixie would not be deterred. “We hit him! He's hurt! We have to get him to the hospital!”

Now Lucifer was on solid ground. Thanks to her mother's recent poisoning, the former King of Hell knew all about hospitals, and planned to put that knowledge to good use. “Hospitals won't take animals, Beatrice, they're just for...”

“I _know_ that, Lucifer!” Who knew a child's voice could drip such venomous sarcasm? “I mean an _animal_ hospital! He has to go _NOW!_ ” Command spoken, Trixie carefully carried the injured animal back to the Corvette and settled into the front seat, carefully fastening the seatbelt around herself and the cat.

Lucifer sighed, mentally bid goodbye to his Corinthian leather upholstery, and began the mercifully short drive to the office of a 'friend' who owed him a 'favor' and would be more than happy (if he knew what was good for him) to assist in the rescue and treatment of what should by all rights have been roadkill.

Trixie kept up a steady, soothing dialog with the bedraggled cat. In Lucifer's cynical opinion, the animal was exaggerating its injuries. He was sure he heard a purr, and once caught the feline staring at him through a slitted eye with what could almost be termed a judgmental expression. But arguing with the Decker women, as he'd learned through trial and (mostly) error, was fruitless. They did exactly what they wanted while he went along for the ride and did as they told him, although not without complaint. When it came to animal welfare, however, Chloe Decker's daughter was even less open to his protests than her mother. Lucifer Morningstar gritted his teeth when he heard her refer to him as a “bad” man who failed to look where he was going, hitting innocent cats in the process, and was even more annoyed to see the cat actually nod its furry head, as if in agreement.

“Child, that cat can't understand you. They don't speak English.”

Trixie emphatically disagreed. “Animals understand much more than we think they do, Lucifer! There's a Border Collie who understands more than a thousand words, and we saw a video at school about Alex the African Gray parrot who had real conversations with his human. They're really, really smart! It's spe... spec... speeshus to think animals are stupid.”

Lucifer sighed. “You mean 'specist'. As in 'racist' or 'sexist'. And I agree, it's an ugly thing to be. But, Beatrice...”

* * *

Dr. Linda interrupted Maze's story to agree with the littlest Decker. “I saw that, too, on 60 Minutes. Border Collies are incredibly smart, and this one's human is a retired psychologist who taught her so much more than anyone thought a dog could learn. She knows the names of more than a thousand of her toys and can follow complex commands. Apparently she's not really a canine genius, just a very smart dog someone took the time to work with.”

Maze tucked that comment away in her brain's 'good to know' file. The idea of a friendly-looking dog capable of working as a trained assistant to a bounty hunter...  
Linda was looking at her. “The _cat_ , Maze. How did the cat lead to what happened at your house with Trixie and...?

Maze sighed and continued with the embarrassing tale.

* * *

Fortunately, the veterinarian's office was coming up, and Lucifer beat girl and cat through the clinic door by seconds, quickly informing the bewildered receptionist of the disaster heading her way. The staff was sympathetic, the vet competent, and the cat pronounced shaken and bruised, but otherwise healthy.

“So, the owner of Lux is now a cat person?” the vet grinned, giving the black monstrosity a gentle rub under the chin and eliciting a purr in return.

Lucifer sulked and shot his customer a look of pure loathing. He was already brushing fur off his Armani jacket and dreading the scent and crunch of litter underfoot. “That...” Trixie fixed him with an unsmiling stare “uh… beast is _not_ mine, nor is he living with me. He is now the property of this young lady.” And let her mother deal with the repercussions. The fact that Chloe Decker's usual method of dealing with repercussions was to blame Lucifer Morningstar for everything untoward that occurred (just because he happened to be in the general vicinity) conveniently slipped his mind.

“This is my friend!” Trixie was proud of her new bestie. No simpering kitten for her; this boy was an incredible hulk of feline affection that the nice animal doctor said weighed in at a massive 30 pounds! Not an easy armful, but she couldn't have been prouder of him.

“What's his name going to be?” the vet inquired.

Trixie scrunched up her face and thought long and hard. “Haven't decided yet. He'll let me know.”

“#$%*ing nuisance” Lucifer mumbled under his breath, and smiled innocently at his young charge. The cat shot him a foul glare, which he failed to notice.

Back in the car, the cat tucked reluctantly into new carry crate, Lucifer confronted Trixie with the first of many logistical issues connected with animal guardianship. “What are you going to do with him? You can't take him to school with you. Perhaps if we just let him go back where we found him...?”

Trixie, predictably, was deeply offended. “We'll take him home, Lucifer! He can stay in my room. You go buy him a litterbox and food. It's our fault he got hurt, so we have to take _responsibility_.”

Spoken like her mother's daughter. Lucifer was sure his Detective would be proud of The Spawn. Eventually. Assuming the landlord didn't kick the whole kit 'n kaboodle out onto the street. He would need to have a quiet word with that landlord; perhaps an increase in their non-refundable cleaning deposit would set things to rights.

* * *

“Got home earlier than I expected,” Maze continued, finishing off the third pitcher of the night and immediately ordering another. Given their level of consumption, by this time Dr. Linda would have normally tried to wrap up their evening and head home, but she was intensely curious to hear an explanation of the chaos that occurred at Chez Decker/Smith. The psychiatrist nodded and waved her hand, indicating her demonic friend should continue the story. Maze tossed down a full glass, belched loudly and spoke.

“Nobody was home, so I hit the shower. Came out, heard a thump from Trixie's room and went to take care of it.”

Linda shuddered. When Mazikeen Smith was involved, “take care of it” as often as not meant knives, violence and trips to the emergency room. For the more fortunate of her victims.

* * *

Another loud thump. The noise was coming from the room belonging to her first human friend, a small person with strong opinions who walked into Lux dressed like an old drag queen. It was only after her mother appeared, evidencing great concern over the small human's survival that Mazikeen realized it was a child. A loathsome species, and the reason many of her torture victims had been condemned to Hell in the first place.

What was it about those little creatures that inspired otherwise boringly stupid humans to commit sins that got them sentenced to an eternity of suffering and pain?

This one was the first she had actually met, and it left her confused. Rather than wanting to kill the thing, or at least drive it off, she rather enjoyed talking to it. The little... whatever it was had a unique take on life and none of the simpering, smart-assed silliness of prime time television brats. Maze... _liked_ it. Liked _her_. Trixie.

 

* * *

 

Twirling one wickedly curved karambit around her hand, Maze approached Trixie's room and the source of the noise. Usually ajar, the door was tightly closed; the demon silently turned the knob and eased the door open a crack. When nothing jumped out at her, she pushed the door open to find… nothing. Oh, sure, the bed was a little messier than usual, but Maze was hardly one to throw stones about a little chaos in the bedroom. Stepping back to leave, she heard a soft scuffling noise and closed the door behind her, gaze sweeping the room, blade at the ready.

It was then that she noticed the room’s new accessories. Carefully situated so that they wouldn't be immediately visible from the door, the litter box and the food bowl were bad enough, but the fluffy blue bed was just too much, especially when it was clear that the creature intended for all this had chosen to use Trixie's bed instead; Maze could see black hairs on the pillow that were definitely not from her favorite small human. Maze cautiously stepped past the edge of the bed, and there it was. The fluffy behemoth, Maze speculated, had jumped down from the bed (thump one) and knocked over the bag of cat food (thump two), the better to shred its side and release its contents in an expert disemboweling move. Now, definitely recognizing another predator, the creature regarded Maze warily and arched its spine, appearing even larger than its already impressive size.

Maze could take the cat, obviously. She fingered her knife, considering the beast. It was in Trixie's room, though, and the gear implied that this was intentional. The creature, unfortunately, was Trixie's, and so off-limits. Of course, it could always attack first. Maze almost hoped it would, though the explanations would still be awkward.

Mazikeen Smith, demon, bounty hunter, forged in the bowels of Hell did not often acknowledge that she had been changed by her time on Earth. As she stepped backward, her gaze locked with the cat’s, she knew she was going to do something she didn't like to do: call for backup. Knife still at the ready, she pulled out her phone and dialed, speaking as soon as the connection was made. “When did we get a cat?”

* * *

“I'm glad you didn't kill him,” Linda said, reaching for a nearby bowl of of pretzels in the hopes of getting something besides alcohol in her stomach, the better to see the story to its end. Honestly, this was better than TV.

“Me, too, as it turns out,” Maze replied. “Plus, Decker’s reaction on the phone was priceless. She was already pissed off that Lucifer had dropped the kid off at school two hours late.” She smirked, clearly enjoying the thought of Lucifer scrambling to explain.

Linda prompted, “But you were the one to pick Trixie up from school that day, right?”

* * *

Maze resisted the urge to bulldoze past the other waiting cars to get to the head of the line. Only the memory of the fallout from the last time she’d done that restrained her. The yelling had been fun, and even annoying Decker, but then Trixie had given her that sad look and… well. Maze hated the sad look. So Maze waited her turn and vowed to get the name of the person responsible for the car line. Whoever it was clearly had a future in Hell.

Finally, she reached the head of the line and Trixie hopped into the back seat, tossing in her backpack and clicking on her seat belt. Maze, of course, wore no seat belt; she took her rebellions where she could.

“School good?” Maze asked, peeling out of the lot. Seeing Trixie’s nod in the rear-view mirror, she suggested, far too innocently, “Want to go get ice cream?” She liked the kid, sure, but she wasn't above a little minor torment to make up for being startled by the beast.

“Oh,” Trixie replied, clearly torn. “Well. We need to get home, though.”

Maze could almost see the gears turning in the child’s head as she tried to come up with a logical reason for skipping ice cream, and grinned. “But why? I really want ice cream, don't you?”

“Well, yeah,” Trixie replied. After all, she always wanted ice cream. “But… I have homework.”

Maze scoffed, “You’re nine. You can't have that much homework.”

Trixie sighed. “Can we just go home, Maze? Please?” She had made her decision: cats over ice cream.

“Sure, kid. Maybe we'll get ice cream later.” Maze drove in silence for a moment, then caught Trixie's eye in the rear-view mirror. “I know about that… creature in your room.”

“You saw him?” Trixie asked, delighted. “How is he?”

“It’s male?” Maze queried. She snorted. “Well, of course it is. It’s a terror. Why is it in the apartment?”

Trixie explained the situation at length, with the bubbling enthusiasm she usually reserved for Moana or the Curiosity rover.

“So this is Lucifer's fault,” Maze decided as she pulled the car into a parking space. “It should go live with him.”

“No, Maze!” Trixie protested as she got out of the car. “He doesn't like Lucifer, but he loves me. Plus, Lucifer hates cats.”

Maze grabbed Trixie's backpack and handed it to the girl, muttering, “That’s kind of the point.”

Trixie looped her backpack over one shoulder and grabbed Maze’s hand, tugging her along. “Come on! You’ll love him when you get to know him.”

“I doubt it,” Maze groused, though she let Trixie pull her into the apartment and then into her bedroom.

The cat was back on the bed, and Trixie dropped both Maze’s hand and her backpack in favor of climbing onto the bed and pulling the cat into her lap.

“That thing is gigantic,” Maze observed from the doorway. “What is it, half mountain lion?”

The cat rubbed his head against Trixie's jaw, eliciting a giggle from the girl. “Isn't he adorable, Maze?”

“No.”

* * *

“Okay, you’ve made your point,” Linda said, amused. “The cat was huge and you didn't like him. Can we please get to the exciting part? I have patients to see tomorrow.”

Maze leaned forward, a small smirk crossing her face. “Am I taking too long for you, Linda?”

The therapist managed, due to her years of practice maintaining a professional expression, to avoid laughing. “Yes, Maze, you are truly tormenting me,” she said, straight-faced. “Can we just pretend you've tortured me enough and move it along?”

“Oh, Linda,” Maze drawled. “This is nothing. When I torture you, trust me, you’ll know.” She grinned, then adding, “The exciting part, huh? I guess you mean when the jerk showed up.”

* * *

When Maze had admired the cat enough for Trixie’s liking - from a distance - she extracted a promise from the child that she would stop petting the creature long enough to do get started on her homework, and departed. (Maze had been forbidden to help Trixie with her homework after The Christopher Columbus Incident. She still avowed her innocence. It wasn't Maze’s fault, she insisted, that the school didn't want the children to know what really happened.)

Closing the door behind her, she caught sight of a figure across the room and a knife appeared in her hand. Tall, lanky, and dark-haired, he could have been mistaken at a distance for Lucifer, but not by Maze. The proportions were subtly off. He turned, and the differences were even more obvious: faded hazel eyes, a snub nose, and a baby-smooth jaw; clearly, a poor imitation of his brother. He carried a golden book under one arm, something that rung a distant bell, but she couldn't quite put her finger on the memory. Not important.

“So,” Maze drawled, moving closer but still keeping herself between the other and Trixie's door. “Which one are you?”

He looked offended that she didn't know. “Michael,” he spat. “Archangel. Leader of the angelic hosts. Defender of Divine glory. Guardian of the Faith. Strength of God. Powerful intercessor. Invincible prince and warrior. Angel of Action.”  
“Oh, please,” Maze scoffed. “Like you ever get any action.”

Michael continued, speaking over her. “Terror of the evil spirits -”

“Not terrified,” Maze interrupted scornfully. “Why are you here? If you're looking for Lucifer, he’s not here.”

Michael stepped closer, thin lips pinching. “Not here, but also not in Hell, where he should be. Thanks to you.”

“Are you kidding me, Tinkerbell?” Maze demanded. “How is that my fault?”

Before Michael could continue, Trixie’s door opened and the girl emerged, her Disney radar having alerted her to mention of one of her beloved characters. Maze disappeared the knife, but the steely glare that she gave Michael made it clear that it could return at any moment. “Who’s this?” Trixie asked.

“Lucifer's brother Michael,” Maze replied, before Michael could resume the recitation of his titles.

Trixie considered the man. “I guess you kind of look like him. Lucifer does favors for people. Do you?” Michael took a breath, clearly ready for a mocking answer that would make Maze have to kill him, but Trixie didn't let him continue. “No, Maze called you Tinkerbell. Are you a fairy prince?” That sent Maze into peals of laughter, but Trixie persisted, “Can you grant wishes, like a leppercahn? ‘cause I have something I really need. Can you make my mom say we can keep my new cat?”

Michael, who had been making increasingly outraged noises as Trixie continued, glared at Maze, clearly blaming her for the child’s impertinence. Maze responded with a challenging smile, putting an arm around Trixie's shoulders.  
“Watch your back, demon,” Michael growled. He stepped into the hallway, out of Trixie's line of sight, and a quiet whoosh signaled his departure.

Trixie ran across the room to investigate. “He’s gone,” she announced eyes wide. “He is a fairy or a leppercahn or… or something.” Wrinkling her nose, she added, “He seemed kind of mean, though. Not like Lucifer.”

“He’s a… jerk,” Maze agreed, modulating her language just in time as she remembered yet another of Chloe's rules.

Trixie trotted back to Maze’s side. “Can he really grant wishes?”

“Well,” Maze drawled, pondering her answer. “The jerk called himself a powerful intercessor. That seems pretty close to me.”

“Great,” Trixie exulted.

* * *

"Oh, Maze,” Linda managed through her laughter. “You seriously let that little girl believe that the Archangel Michael was a leprechaun?”

Maze shrugged, though devious amusement still shone in her dark eyes. “Hey, I didn't know what she was going to do. I didn't think she really believed me. If it wasn't for that stupid cat…” Seeing Linda’s impatient expression, she laughed, poured them each another drink, and continued.

 

* * *

“Mom, Mom MOMMOMMYMOMMY WE HAVE A....” “Lucifer's bro was here earlier, a complete as..” “CAT!! We have a CAT, Mom! And he's so _big_ and he's fluffy and black...” “He was pissed at me, didn't know anything about your kid, I can go stay with Lucifer if you...” “He weighs 30 pounds, Mommy, and Lucifer hit him with his car when...” “Looks a little like Lucifer, but pampered and spoiled, he wants Lucifer back in He...” “You'll LOVE him, Mom! He's my bestie best friend next to Maze and I love him and...” “I don't think Amenadiel knows he's here, because...” “The vet said he was only bruised even though he ran right under the car. I'll take care of him, Mom! I'll feed him and dump his litterbox and brush him and he can sleep with me...” “I'll take care of this 'brother' before he causes any...”

“STOP!!! Just _stop! Right NOW! Not! One! More! Word!_

“In the name of all that's holy.

”Please.”

Silence descended on Chez Decker/Smith as two of the three residents took time out for a breath and the third checked to see if she was having a nightmare. Nope, just the end of another mother...ing day in LA. Work had been a stifling grind of filling out forms, logging mileage, filing expense reports and helping Dan track down his missing pudding. She'd suggested buying enough for 'everyone', but to her ex, possession of the precious pudding had become a moral issue: It had his _name_ on it. And it seemed somebody at the station was as fond of it as Dan was. Insult to injury, the pudding-lover never bothered to leave a dollar in an empty carton or even, as Dan grumbled, “a damn thank you note!”

The Case of the Purloined Pudding had eaten up the first half of her afternoon, causing her to be an hour late getting home and emotionally exhausted from fighting the city's infamous freeway traffic, which all too often resembled a NASCAR competition. Today's commuter highlight had been a flat tire in the breakdown lane, causing drivers to slow for a closer look ('Never saw no flat tire before, Darlene'), bringing rush hour traffic to a three-mile standstill and putting Detective Decker in a less than pleasant mood.

She was not a pretty sight.

Mazikeen was an expert in the parameters of human suffering, having inflicted much of it herself, and in her considered opinion Chloe Decker was nearing the end of her rope. In some circumstances that could result in an amusing time had by all, but this did not seem to be the appropriate moment for creative suggestions. Wasting no time, the demon poured three fingers of a pricey high-proof liquor Lucifer had left in their kitchen after his last visit. Hopefully, Chloe had temporarily forgotten that during the visit her partner had made cherries _flambe_ and set a dish towel on fire, triggering two smoke alarms and bringing the apartment manager to their door.

Without another word she put the glass in her roommate's hand and watched to make sure the contents went to their intended destination. With a nod to Trixie and a pointed look at Chloe's feet, encased in what Maze considered dowdy old lady boots, the demon's talented hands began kneading the tension out of her roommate's shoulders.

Trixie, always a quick study, unzipped the boots and gently rubbed her mother's arches, working her way up to the calf muscles.

Chloe moaned with pleasure, closed her eyes and finished the drink. Ever attentive, Maze poured her another. Trixie gave her mother her most winning smile and went to work on her tired toes. The detective's day was, at least in the physical sense, improving.

Ulterior motives were the furthest thing from her mind.

With no warning whatsoever, a large warm vibrating mass settled itself on her stomach and began pressing its paws against her ribs in not a totally unpleasant way. Chloe opened one eye, to be greeted by a pair of huge melting golden orbs. The vibrations increased, along with the kneading.

As an adult, Chloe's experience with animals was limited to The Kraken, her mother's savage Chihuahua, which had taken an unexplained, immediate dislike to her. As a child, her parents' erratic work schedules had made pets an impossibility, and she and Dan had been too busy with their jobs and raising Trixie to consider bringing an animal into their home. Besides, she felt... unsure around anything with fur, fins or feathers, and until recently Trixie had seemed happy with frequent trips to the nearby zoo.

Trouble began with that damn movie! Dan, Chloe, Maze and Lucifer had each been 'persuaded' to take the girl – separately, of course – to see The Secret Life of Pets, and the day it was available on DVD Trixie became the proud owner of not one but _two_ copies. Chloe's heart ached when she discovered her daughter had been putting up signs offering to pet sit and walk the neighbors' dogs; and she hurt even more after learning that enterprising local teenagers had previously sewn up the area's market for amateur animal care.

Now, the sort of vehicular accident that usually results in broken hearts, sobbing children and small backyard graves had not only ended well, but put her daughter's dearest dream right into her lap.

She extended a tentative hand and gently stroked the cat's furry black head. It purred louder, slowly closing those golden eyes and smili... no. _NO_ , Decker, the cat is _not smiling at you! All_ cats like to be petted. _All_ cats get that blissful look when someone strokes them under the chin. All cats...

Chloe sighed and resigned herself to a life of sticky rollers and litter. Trixie's face split into a huge grin. The demon rolled her eyes.

* * *

Maze shook her head, disgusted. “She caved, just like that. 'I'll talk to the landlord, maybe he'll let us keep him.' Honestly, I was starting to think the woman had a spine!”

Linda forced herself to adopt an expression of sympathy, the attempt ruined by her twitching lip. “Sooooo.... you and the cat have an adversarial relationship?”

“ _Cats!!_ ” The demon fairly spit the word out. “If I had my hellhounds... you know where I caught that despicable beast?”

Linda leaned across the table and whispered “No! _Where_?”

“IN _MY_ BEDROOM! PLAYING ON _MY SWING_!!”

The black satin swing had initially been a point of contention between detective and demon. Maze employed it for more creative adventures with her guests of varied genders, and believed it provided a certain _je ne sais quoi_ to the public area. Chloe disagreed, Trixie innocently sided with her friend, and after an eyeball to eyeball staredown between the two adults the swing was relocated to Maze's private space.

In her most scandalized voice, she growled: “That cat _opens doors_.”

If Linda had been less intoxicated, and if she had been in her office and acting in her professional capacity as a psychiatrist, she might not have given into temptation. But her friend's scandalized expression was too good to ignore. “Y'know, historically, people have believed that cats are possessed by...” she leaned across the table for effect and hissed “...the spirits of the dead!”

Drunk or not, Maze knew when her leg was being pulled. “If you aren't going to take this seriously, I'm not talking about it,” she huffed, crossing her arms and going full sulk.

“C'mon, Mazie!” Linda was feeling the full effects of their drinking, and didn't want to truly offend the most colorful member of her tribe. “You gotta admit, issa cat. They don' plan things just to piss you off. Mebbe you din latch th' door?”

Maze slumped, dejected. “It's not that damn cat, it's Trixie.”

Now, Linda sat up and stopped joking. She'd never seen her friend this sad.

“She _talks_ to the thing, _plays_ with it, _reads_ to it. Hell, they watch TV together!”

Ah. Jealousy had reared its ugly head.

“The cat never leaves her side... when she's home.”

Linda made a 'keep talking' motion with one hand and finished off the pretzels with the other. The drama was increasing. “And when she's _not_ home?”

“It's into everydamnthing!” Maze snatched a bowl of peanuts off the table next to them, her glare daring the occupants to speak up. They wisely chose to ignore the theft. She tossed a handful – shells and all – into her mouth.

“I know... mumble... open cupboards... mumble... reads Chloe's phone... mumble... too smart... (peanut shells sprayed table and floor) for _any_ cat.” The crunching sounds took on an ominous tone. “I came home this morning and it was watching television!”

Linda shook her head. “Maze, look at the cat vids on YouTube. They _love_ television! You can even buy DVDs designed for cats.”

Maze fixed her friend with a demonic stare. “It had the _remote_ under its _paw_ , Linda! It was _channel surfing_!”

All Doctor Linda Martin's best intentions got up and left the room. The image of a channel surfing cat stretched out on the sofa and snacking on Meow Mix triggered a bout of non-professional hilarity that left her helpless and close to falling on the floor. She choked on a pretzel, and if her friend pounded her on the back with a bit more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, perhaps she deserved it. That laugh alone was worth a few bruises.

Breath regained, Linda decided it was time to change the subject. Besides, people were staring. “So, how does Lucifer's brother – not Amenadiel, the other one – fit into all this?”

Maze looked no happier, but had a new target for her outrage.

* * *

“Michael is another of Lucifer's brothers? The guy thought Lucifer was _here_?”

Maze sighed and rubbed her eyes. For whatever reason, her Dark Lord hesitated to demonstrate his true identity for the detective ( _telling_ the truth being one thing; showing evidence quite another). This meant providing a believable explanation for Brother Peculiar's intentions toward the demon wouldn't be simple. “He's convinced _I'm_ the reason Lucifer is here in LA, instead of... where the family wants him to be.

“He's not happy about Amenadiel being here, either.”

Chloe shook her head, musing on how family could make even the most colorful person seem surprisingly normal by comparison. She was sure (well, _pretty_ sure) there were odder families than Clan Morningstar, but not outside of an institution.

“Have you told Lucifer about this?”

Oh, _had_ she. Lucifer was, predictably, not amused by yet another blood relative complicating his new life, and the bellowing had been memorable, if ineffective. “He's out looking for the jerk as we speak. I could find him, but oh, no, I have to stay right here until this 'issue' is resolved to Lucifer's satisfaction.”

Which she planned to do, but not quite in the manner her former boss intended. Nobody but nobody threatened her and got away with it, much less brought bad mojo anywhere Trixie. From what little she knew about this particular brother, he relied on dramatic entrances, flaming swords and thundering pronouncements to get his way – which might have worked on ignorant goatherders and delusional prophets but would have zero effect on anyone who'd seen Alien as many times as she had.

* * *

“I haven't tracked him down yet, and he’s not taking my calls.” Lucifer hovered near the front door. He sent a wary look toward the kitchen, where Trixie and her best feline friend lurked, just waiting, he knew, to shed on him. Well, he knew the cat would shed; the child wouldn't leave hair on him, but she was in the kitchen, so she was inevitably covered in some unsavory substance that would inevitably find its way onto his Armani.

“Look, if you’d just let _me_ go after him -” Maze began.

“ _No_.” Lucifer shook his head, his expression forbidding.

Maze sighed in exasperation. “Lucifer, I can handle your brother. He’s all hot air and bragging.”

Lucifer dared to leave the space by the door, stepping fastidiously to the couch and brushing vigorously at the cushion before seating himself. “While I think Michael is a pathetic excuse for a being, he’s still an archangel,” he cautioned, lowering his voice. “And he’s got that sword.”

Maze rolled her eyes, but before she could counter with her own abilities with blades, Trixie popped up at the back of the couch, the cat barely contained in her arms. “Are you talking about Lucifer's brother?” Maze nodded, a smug smile lighting her features as Lucifer recoiled and the cat laid back his tufted ears. After a moment spent studying the Devil, the cat's uncanny golden eyes dismissed Lucifer and returned to Trixie. He bumped his head against the girl’s chin, and Trixie beamed. “He really is a leppercahn!”

“My brother is a… _what_?” Lucifer stared at the girl, a heartbeat away from laughter.

Trixie took a moment to coo soothingly at the cat, struggling a little under his weight, “It’s okay, Lucifer won't hurt you.” She turned her limpid gaze on Lucifer, adding, “He still remembers that you hit him with your car.” Lucifer harrumphed, but listened as Trixie continued, “Your brother is a _leppercahn_. I thought he was a fairy prince, because Maze called him Tinkerbell, but he’s a leppercahn because he granted my wish.”

Lucifer leaned back blissfully against the back of the couch as Trixie resumed her story, all but choked at the thought of his brother the fairy prince, and then dissolved into laughter, mumbling, “Tinkerbell. Oh, Maze, tell me you got a picture of his face when you called him that.”

Maze shook her head, and Lucifer continued to Trixie, vastly amused, “What wish did my brother grant?”

Trixie blissfully hugged her cat as she returned to the kitchen; he tolerated the affection even as he cast another baleful look at Lucifer over Trixie's shoulder. “He made Mommy say we could keep my kitty! And then the landlord said yes, too!”

“But _I’m_ the one who paid off -” Lucifer cut off his words as Maze shook her head, mouthing _leppercahn_ at him; the Devil snorted and let it pass. “Right, then. I'm off to go find my brother and… _thank_ him.”

He started for the door as Trixie rummaged in the kitchen. “Hey,” she called brightly. “Satan likes tacos!”

“Well, usually, I do,” Lucifer agreed, pausing in his exit. “Though the last one I had, some idiot ruined a perfectly lovely taco by putting _goat cheese_ on it. Even the truffle oil couldn't save it.”

Maze didn't bother to hide her laugh as Trixie clarified, “Not _you_ , silly. Satan is my _kitty_!”

The noise Lucifer made as the door closed behind him defied description.

* * *

"Wait, Trixie named the cat _Satan_?” Linda stared at Maze, caught between laughter and shock. She had switched to water, hoping that hydrating now would make her morning a little easier, though Maze was still pounding back the daiquiris.

Maze’s lips curved in a small smile. “Her choice may have been… influenced just a little.”

“But why?” Linda demanded. “That can't have gone over well with… anybody.”

Maze shrugged. “I thought it was funny,” she replied, unconcerned. “And the look on Lucifer's face… you should have seen it.”

Linda chuckled, and then thought about it and outright laughed. “I can imagine.” Draining more of her water, she added, “But he didn't find his brother, right? Was that the night that Michael…?”

Maze nodded, admitting, “I don't know if I want to tell you this part.”

“Maze, you can't quit now,” Linda protested. “You _have_ to tell the rest.” Therapist, shmerapist; Linda had her friend hat on and, as a friend, she wanted to know what happened next.

Maze sighed. “Okay, but you can't tell anyone else - especially Lucifer. He saw the, um, aftermath - ha, he wore some of the aftermath - but he doesn't know all the details.”

Linda made the ‘lock the lips and throw away the key’ gesture. When Maze looked confused, she shook her head with a low, rich chuckle. Sometimes the little things her friend didn't understand surprised her, though they shouldn't by now. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Maze shook her head, smiling ruefully as she started up the story once more.

* * *

Maze knew why Lucifer wasn't having any luck finding Michael: Michael didn't want to be found - at least not by Lucifer. The demon knew she was going to have to deal with the angel on her own. Fortunately, Chloe was dealing with paperwork and Lucifer and Amenadiel were off in search of Michael; the last thing she needed was interference. When she’d checked on Trixie, the girl had been fast asleep with the cat curled into the curve of her side. Fortunately, the kid was a heavy sleeper.

The cat hair situation was getting out of control, Maze decided. Trixie swore that she’d clean up after the mess, but she was still a nine year-old, more interested in the fun than in the work. Maze could relate to that, actually, but the cat kept breaking into her room, and her pillow was never going to be the same, let alone her swing.

After one last listen at Trixie's door, Maze moved into the living room. She shoved the furniture to the edges of the room, remembering the fit Decker had pitched about the coffee table that one time, checked her karambits, and waited.

She didn't have to wait very long. A quiet whoosh announced the angel's arrival, complete with the stupid hold book. Maze greeted him brightly, “Hey, Action Angel. Your brother's been looking for you.”

“Angel of Action,” Michael corrected, his narrow lips going even thinner in his disdain. “No need to involve my brother. Once you’re gone, he’ll realize that he shouldn't be here.”

Maze cocked a hip, casting a taunting smile at the angel. “Where am I going? I’ve heard Vegas is fun.”

“Are you really that stupid?” Michael inquired. “Wait, look at who I'm asking. I’ll use small words, demon. Try to keep up.”

His phrasing was so like Lucifer's, despite the vastly different tone, that Maze was briefly taken aback. Michael, of course, took her silence as acquiescence and continued, his tone so condescending that Maze looked forward to smacking the smirk off his face. “He belongs in Hell, and you -”

Maze tuned him out. There was a time when, strangely enough, she totally would have agreed with Action Angel, that Lucifer belonged in Hell. But she’d seen the changes that living here had wrought upon him, and she almost, sort of… _liked_ humans. Well, some of them. If Lucifer chose to return to Hell, of course she would be at his side, but she didn't see him making that decision.

“... are you even listening to me?” Michael demanded.

Maze snorted. “Of course not. Look, I get it. You want Lucifer in Hell and you think - somehow - that I'm the reason he’s not, that if I'm gone, he’ll fall in line with Daddy's Plan and go back where he belongs.” She shook her head, concluding, “You’re an idiot.”

Michael gaped at her. “Are _you_ seriously speaking to _me_ in that manner?”

Maze rolled her eyes. “You want me to leave, even though that won't solve anything. I have no intention of going anywhere. So what are you going to do about it, Lucky Charms?”

“Lucky…?” Apparently not a fan of Saturday morning cartoons, and the commercials shown therein, Michael looked utterly perplexed for a split second. That look of befuddlement was almost familiar, and Maze realized she’d seen it on Lucifer's face more times than she could count, especially in those first days on Earth. It would have been endearing, if it hadn't been Michael. In any event, the expression was gone so quickly that Maze wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been staring at Michael, a smile of challenge on her lips.

A thump sounded from Trixie's room and Maze darted a glance that way. It was the quickest of looks, but by the time she had returned her attention to Michael, his blade was out, the tip aimed just above her jugular notch.

Maze had fought Uriel, and it hadn't exactly gone well, but he had that freaky pattern thing. Michael, even with his sword, was a different story altogether. She rolled backward, landing neatly on her feet at a better distance from Michael, karambits at the ready.

Michael shifted his stance, his eyes locked on the demon, his lips pulling away from his teeth in an expression that was decidedly not a smile.

Time to play.

Neither one of them saw Trixie's door opening.

* * *

”Wait, you can't stop there,” Linda protested.

Maze got to her feet, smugly pleased at the dismayed expression on her friend's face. Still, she was only in the mood for minor torment. She got to her feet, saying, “Have you seen how much I’ve been drinking?” She tipped her head toward the ladies’ room, adding, “I’ll be right back.”

“You’d better be! This is torture, Maze, worse than that time at the DMV!”

Maze smiled. Linda said the sweetest things.

* * *

It quickly became obvious that Michael's demon-fighting abilities were sorely lacking. He waved the sword with great gusto, but to Maze's experienced eye the angel looked like an actor who got roles based on appearance rather than any particular talent. Oh, the sword was sharp enough, and probably loaded with heavenly spells to end the existence of a clumsy demon, but nobody would ever call Mazikeen Smith 'clumsy'. She'd fought some of the best, with and without weapons at hand, while Michael was... well, a showboat. Not surprising, considering his brother.

Had Lucifer been around, he would have laughed and started making bets on her to mop up the floor with the silly sod.

“Begone, foul demon!” the ridiculous angel growled, waving his weapon like he had a flag tied to one end. “In the name of the Father and the Son and...”

“...and one idiot brother who bit off more than he could chew. Right, Tinkerbell? While you're granting wishes to nine-year-old girls, wish for fighting skills for yourself, why don’tcha?”

Maze was becoming offended. Was this the best her Dark Lord's Father could send? Admittedly, Michael might have done better with that sword if he'd held it with both hands, but he was at a disadvantage thanks to that solid gold book he was clutching to his chest. Maze finally remembered Lucifer saying something about his having to carry a book around with him when he was on the job; trust that family to be the last to own a Kindle.

“Want a minute to catch your breath?” The demon was not above a little trash-talking, and Michael was panting and turning an alarming shade of red. “Hands on knees; slow, deep breaths – can't have a leprechaun passing out in my living room.”

If looks could kill... What was with this guy? Scrawny little Uriel had been a bigger challenge even before he learned her patterns. Was his lip trembling?

“Ohhh, are you gonna _cry_?” the demon demanded. ''You're a grown man, for chr... now, _stop_ that! Where is your pride? Have a little self-respect!”

Why, in the name of all that's unholy, did dear old Dad send this buffoon to get rid of his brother's bodyguard? Maze pondered that as Michael gasped and wheezed, and slowly but surely she realized what was going on.

“He _didn't_ send you, did he? Dear old Dad doesn't know you're here! You decided to get rid of me all by yourself; this is all YOUR idea!”

She shook her head in disgust. “Who is in charge up there? And do not tell me it's one of you kids. None of you could organize a goat fu...”

The angry angel lunged. Maze laughed. As she stepped back into a fighting stance her foot came down on a large lump. The lump let out with an almighty yowl and the surprised demon lost her balance and went down hard on her butt, knocking the wind out of her. One karambit flew across the room and slid under the china cabinet; the other embedded itself in the sofa. Maze was suddenly unarmed, unable to breathe and facing an enraged archangel who looked as if he couldn't decide whether to run her through with his sword or beat her senseless with that golden book.

“Now, you shameful wretch!” he panted, raising the sword and aiming it at her chest, “I shall return you to the bowels of Hell!”

Excessively dramatic; just what she'd expect from the brother of Lucifer Morningstar. Odd, the things you think of just before you die.

And here was something else she hadn't expected: Her small pajama-clad human stepping between demon and angel, armed with a... _oh, NO, child! That's not going to protect you! It's just a toy..._

Trixie had seen the fight and heard the trash-talking. She was impressed by her friend's wit, determined to remember the crying comment and wondering what a 'goat fu..' was. But when Maze stepped on Satan, it all went sideways. Now, her bestie was being threatened by Lucifer's brother. Would Lucifer be angry with her if she stopped him? What else could she do? Maze was her friend.

Trixie pointed her new toy at the not-nice leppercahn brother (would Amenadiel be angry at her? What if both Lucifer and Amenadiel yelled at her?) But this brother had a sword (she knew what swords could do; she and Maze watched Game of Thrones when her mom wasn't home). And he looked so... _furious_.

Something must be done. Trixie to the rescue!

The child had the predatory instincts of the typical American fourth grader. She could almost _smell_ it: This wish-granting leppercahn was _hiding something_. When they discussed “prevaricating” in Mrs. Coulee's fourth grade class, Trixie considered bringing in a video of the recent Senatorial hearings in Washington as her example. But this was better.

“When someone won't answer the question you asked, when they try to distract you with information you didn't ask for, when they respond to polite questions by getting angry and defensive, that's 'prevaricating',” her teacher had explained. “They're trying to make you think they've told you the truth when they really haven't.”

Using her other hand, Trixie whipped out her cell phone, camera app already activated and recording. She was determined to turn in the best example of ‘prevarication’ Mrs. Coulee had ever seen!

“Does your father know where you are?” she demanded, using a courtroom voice that would have impressed Charlotte Richards. “Because I don't think you're supposed to be here if you aren't going to grant wishes!”

The angelic enforcer was horrified by the implication that he was: A. an imaginary Celtic spirit, and B. expected to give his Father's primitive mortals their hearts' desires. The only answer appeared to be that this small creature had been corrupted by the demon.

The child locked eyes with him and scowled. In the voice she'd heard her mother use when she'd done something really _really_ bad (and, okay, her mom had used it on Lucifer – but only once) she Set Things To Rights.

“You are a bad leppercahn! Maze is my friend and I won't let you hurt her. _SHAME_ ON YOU!!”

And with that, Beatrice Decker-Espinoza, age nine, pointed her gun at the Archangel Michael and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Linda's mouth was open so far that Maze reached across the table and pushed her chin up.

“She did that?” the psychiatrist gasped. “Little Trixie took on an _angel_?”

“Not much of an angel, if you ask me,” her friend snorted. “Couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. But the kid has guts, I'll give her that.”

Linda could tell Maze was more than proud by the smile her girlfriend failed to hide. “Got right in his stupid face and really let him have it! Sounds just like her mom when she's pissed off.”

Linda was now confused. “But... where did she get a _gun_? I know Chloe keeps hers locked up when Trixie's home. Whose was it? Were the police called? How did you explain...?”

By this time, Maze was laughing so hard she slid out of the chair, pounding her fist on the floor and howling with glee.

“His _face_! Oh, you should have seen that _face_!!”

* * *

Trixie pulled the trigger, and cloud of sparkling multi-colored glitter blew out of the barrel and hit the 'leppercahn' squarely between the eyes. She'd pestered Lucifer for days until he gave in (she knew he would, eventually), took her to the mall and bought her the fabulous GlitterGun (complete with 10 GlitterBombs and a tiny compressed air tank for only $49.95!), in spite of her mom’s adamant opposition.

“Guns are not toys, Trixie!” She said it every time Trixie admired a friend's toy gun or saw an ad for one on TV. Trixie was the daughter of two cops; she wasn't stupid – she knew guns were tools for adults and not something to play with. But the GlitterGun wasn't a _real_ gun – it just shot harmless glitter and wouldn't hurt anyone. She was sure of it.

So Lucifer made her promise not to shoot anyone in the face with it and not to tell her mom how she'd gotten it. She didn't even cross her fingers when she promised. No grownup was going to know about the GlitterGun... but now, here was Lucifer's leppercahn brother, and he wasn't being nice. He'd snuck into their apartment, yelled at Maze and forced her to step on poor Satan. If anyone deserved to be GlitterBombed, it was THIS guy!

The leppercahn gasped in horror. “What...? What is this stuff? What have you done to me? Foolish child! I'm trying to save your soul from the fires of hell and you...” He spit glitter and sneezed, wiping sparkly snot on his sleeve. “What IS this? Get it _OFF_ ME!!”

Trixie knew she shouldn't, but the sight of a full grown man who looked sort of like Lucifer frantically wiping his face and acting like a spoiled brat over a little glitter was too funny!

She giggled. And pointed.

Michael was enraged. Where were the humans who cowered in terror at his pronouncements? Where were the prophets who hung on his every word and built entire religions based on his commands? Who was this disrespectful small human in pink? And what was this... this horrid material on his face, up his nose, stuck to his lips and – was it in his hair? Oh, Father, look what they have done to your beloved Son, your Right Arm, your Wrath and Vengeance!

In full tantrum, Michael reached out a foot and pushed the small human aside. He would discipline her later; now, he must deal with the Demon from the Bowels of Hell before she regained her balance and picked up one of those knives (Michael was not fond of bladed instruments held by others). Foot still in the air, the glittery angel was knocked off balance by a savage flying object waving razors in various directions, causing him to quickly step backwards. As his last visit to Earth had been more than 2,000 years ago, he was unaware that present day children tended to accumulate multiple possessions which were often scattered around the common spaces within their domiciles.

Michael's size 13 shoe went straight through the roof and second floor of Barbie's pink plastic Dream Mansion and embedded itself in the tiny kitchen, tangling with a Barbie and sending the angel crashing to the floor.

Trapped between the sofa and coffee table, his hands occupied with the sacred objects he was obligated to carry when on assignment, and savaged by razor-wielding paws attached to 30 pounds of enraged domestic feline, the angel could only scream for help and pray for rescue like he'd seldom prayed before. At that moment, the front door was flung open and one angry, worried detective/mother ran in, having been alerted by Trixie's attempt to record her confrontation with the intruder, which had accidentally been sent to her mother's phone. She was followed immediately by Lucifer and Amenadiel, who had simultaneously realized the only place their elusive sibling could be. They were greeted by the sight of the detective's daughter waving around a forbidden GlitterGun, a demon struggling to regain her feet and a man who looked a bit like the detective's devilish civilian assistant being mauled by a fully-fluffed housecat the size of a Rottweiler. Glitter was everywhere.

Chloe's swoop on Trixie would have made a mother eagle envious. She snatched up her offspring and held her close, determined she was unhurt and extended a hand to help Maze up, which was shrugged off with minimal grace. Demons loathe being embarrassed, and a fighter of Mazikeen's caliber being discovered – unhurt – on the floor in a combat situation was an extreme humiliation. Lucifer and Amenadiel shooed the cat away and helped their brother to his feet, with Lucifer keeping a tight grip on Michael's arm and Amenadiel wiping blood off his brother's face and brushing glitter out of his hair.

Lucifer briefly wondered how an immortal being could suffer deep scratches inflicted by the claws of an ordinary (if quite large) cat, but filed it away for another time. Chloe made him vulnerable; perhaps Michael and the cat...? Nope. Not a chance. Michael had never been an animal-loving angel. But that meant there had to be a Celestial in the area other than himself and Amenadiel, which was even more unlikely.

If Maze took out her cell phone and snapped photos of the sparkling heavenly host, no one present noticed amid the yelling and recriminations.

* * *

Linda stared at the pictures and tried desperately not to keep laughing. Her face was sore and her sides hurt from her reaction to the ungodly disaster that had once been a tidy living room. The best photo showed a man who looked like a stunned and sorry copy of Lucifer Morningstar covered in glitter, with one foot firmly stuck in what appeared to be a large plastic Barbie house. The man was being supported by his brothers, who had both managed to get copious amounts of sparkles on themselves.

She shook her head. All that male hubris in ruins, thanks to a small glitter-loving girl in pink jammies. And her loyal cat.

“It was _you_ that saved them, Maze,” Linda solemnly told her friend. “I guess angels can't kill humans; is that right?”

The demon nodded.

“But this... whatever he is, doesn't sound like someone willing to follow the rules. Do you think Lucifer's father _really_ sent him to kill you, or was it an idea he'd pulled out of his a...”

Maze interrupted. “Oh, yeah, he wanted to please Dad. He was sure getting rid of me would convince Lucifer to go straight back to Hell. If he'd managed to take me out and Lucifer still wouldn't cooperate, I have no idea what he'd have done.”

Uriel wasn't supposed to kill humans, either, Linda remembered. Yet he'd set up a pattern to eliminate both Charlotte _and_ Chloe because that was how he thought he'd get God's attention.

 _Families_. She shuddered. All those egos and that 'God loves me more than you’ energy motivating otherwise rational beings to do insane things. Lucifer and Amenadiel's disagreements over Favorite Son status. Charlotte, determined to get revenge on her ex but still deeply concerned for her children. Michael and Uriel, trying to get their Father's attention.

 _Oh, Chloe, dear_ , Linda thought, _be careful who you love_. In her practice, she'd seen ugly things happen when starry-eyed lovers refused to remember that when you marry a person, you also marry their family.

* * *

While she was fretting over Trixie, who was in turn fretting over Satan (who seemed smugly pleased with all the attention), Lucifer and Amenadiel 'disappeared' Michael right out the front door, sword and all, enraging Chloe.

“I'm going to arrest him; I don't care if he is your brother! He broke into _my_ house! He was waving a deadly weapon near _Trixie! He tried to kill my roommate_! And you two morons just let him GO? What were you _thinking_?”

Amenadiel at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “He... uh, he's in plenty of trouble with the family over this. We'll see he never shows his face around here again, Chloe. Believe me, it's better if our... people get him some help. He's delusional, and will have a better chance of recovering...”

He looked at Lucifer with a hint of desperation. Chloe realized the better looking of the brothers was not only incapable of telling an outright lie, but barely able to dissemble, and that perhaps Michael himself might have preferred arrest to a familial confrontation. And he _was_ gone. And it _had_ been a very long day.

The evening ended with Trixie tucked back in bed and Satan cuddled down beside her. Chloe admired the photos on her cell phone, agreed that they were so good she'd immediately come running, and reassured her that she'd been incredibly brave and there would be no punishment for having the forbidden toy. But the GlitterGun had to go.

Predictably, Trixie resisted, but her mother held firm. “What if we hadn't gotten here when we did? What if he'd used that sword...” she couldn't continue. The thought of her Trixie, skull split open by a homicidal historical re-enactor was more than she could stand.

Trixie sensed her tears. “Satan wouldn't let that happen, Mom! He'll always protect me – you saw! He had Michael on the ground and was beating him silly.”

Chloe pulled her brave girl into a fierce hug. The tragedy of having a family member as demented as the man she'd seen in her living room came close to breaking her heart.

“I was just like Arya Stark!” her daughter whispered.

Chloe groaned.

 

The evening's conflict was not yet completely finished. The two brothers flatly refused to leave, citing the possibility that, on the off chance Michael returned, they were best equipped to 'reason' with him. Chloe considered having a squad car park outside, but that would mean pulling at least two officers off another assignment. And more paperwork to fill out tomorrow. And it was getting very late...

* * *

Epilogue

3:24 am, and Chloe Decker woke up with a dry mouth and a desperate need for a glass of water. While Lucifer snored beside her ( _and he calls me an Albanian field wench?_ ) the half-awake detective made her way past Mazikeen's room (where she heard not one but _two_ people snoring, which explained where Amenadiel was sleeping) and through the detritus of the evening's combat to the kitchen. A large, black feline padded by her side, moving with a predator's grace to avoid tripping his human.

If Chloe Decker had been a bit more awake, she might have glanced at the glass-fronted china cabinet with the spell-enhanced karambit beneath it. If she had, she might have seen for just a second what appeared to be the distorted reflection of a woman walking next to... not a large black cat but a tall, brown-haired man wearing the uniform of an LAPD patrol officer that was, curiously, 20 years out of date.

There was no one to see the man smile gently and brush a wisp of hair away from her forehead, no witness to see his lips move and appear to formed a word.

And if the word might have been “Monkey”, no one would ever say for sure.


End file.
